


A Second First Time

by Spinning_In_Infinity



Category: Deadpool (Movieverse), Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, First Time Blow Jobs, First Time Bottoming, Fluffy, Hotel Sex, M/M, Peter is Nineteen, Peter's first time, Public Sex, Rimming, Virgin Peter, lots of smut, mentions of hamilton, soft fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:07:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22962157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spinning_In_Infinity/pseuds/Spinning_In_Infinity
Summary: ' “Wade . . .?”Suit on, mask in hand, Wade glared down at Peter. “I took your virginity – Spider-Man’s virginity – on a fucking rooftop.” 'After an amorous encounter on a rooftop during a production of Hamilton, Wade inadvertently ends up taking Peter's virginity. Horrified upon discovering this, Wade vows to make it up to him - whatever the cost.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Wade Wilson
Comments: 51
Kudos: 857





	A Second First Time

**Author's Note:**

> This was meant to be a Valentine's Day fic, but the demon known as procrastination set in and I've only just finished it *face-palm*. Wanted to write something sweet and fluffy while still dripping in smut - enjoy!

Peter must have seen Hamilton more times than anyone else in New York City. At least, in parts.

The show had been running for six months now, and since Peter could scarcely afford the rent on his student apartment, let alone a $100 ticket to a Broadway show, he'd had to be inventive. The theatre had a large glass dome on its roof, the topmost which panels eased open a little to allow ventilation. Peter would slide himself into position against the glass and watch the show for as long as he could until his senses alerted him to some criminal activity nearby. He knew Act One almost by heart now, with snippets of Act Two, since he couldn’t always time his evening web-swinging to the theatre’s schedule.

The actors were halfway through _That Would Be Enough_ when Peter felt something. Not a “Peter-tingle”, but an awareness that someone was close by. Pulling his mask back down over his nose and mouth, he shifted into a crouch and peered into the surrounding dusk. The moment he saw the flash of red and black, his stance relaxed.

“Hey, sugar-plum.” Wade began crawling up the side of the dome, the leather of his suit squeaking a little against the glass. He pulled something out of his pocket and handed it to Peter; it was an almond joy, not Peter’s favourite but he appreciated the gesture. After unwrapping one for himself, Wade flattened himself against the dome and surveyed the stage below. The scene changed and the actors started singing _Guns and Ships_.

“Nnmmgg!” He growled, as though half in pain and half in ecstasy. “This is my favourite. Did I ever tell you I can do the rap?”

“Yeah,” Peter said, taking a bite of his candy bar. “Please don’t.”

They watched together for a while, silent save for the crunching of chocolate, until the hairs on the back of Peter’s neck stood up – from somewhere down in the street, his sensitive ears caught the sound of a woman pleading in distress.

“Wait here,” he said to Wade before running at the ledge of the building and jumping off. The woman and her two assailants were down an alley three blocks away; one of the guys was rifling through her purse, the other was wrestling her to the ground. She was putting up a fight, but he dealt a blow to the side of her head and she fell back, dazed.

“Hey, shit-dicks!” Peter yelled, adopting one of Wade’s chosen nicknames for assholes like these.

Before they could respond, he sent a barrage of webs right in their faces and another at the lady’s purse, yanking it into his reach. The woman lay on the floor, eyes wide in shock and confusion, as Peter slung the two men against the wall and secured their positions with a sticky canvas across the brick. Hastening to her side, Peter set down her purse and took a quick look at her head. There wasn’t any blood, but a bruise was forming on her temple and she was badly shaken.

“You alright, ma’am?” he said, helping her to her feet and steadying her as she swayed.

“I . . . I think so,” she said. Peter led her into the Chinese laundry round the corner and asked them to call the cops in what broken Mandarin he could remember from high school. Expecting that he probably just told them that the pig flew south of the carrot or something equally as nonsensical, he stepped out of the shop and ascended to the roof.

The sound of distant clapping greeted his ears and, looking up, he saw Wade sitting on the edge of the neighbouring building, some thirty feet above.

“You _could_ have helped,” Peter said, once he’d joined his fellow mask.

“Nah,” Wade said. “You kicking ass like that is _seriously_ hot, baby boy.”

Peter rolled his eyes (not that Wade could see) and started the short journey back to the theatre. He suspected the interval would have started by now, which annoyed him – _Non-Stop_ was his favourite song in the show. Why couldn’t the jerks in this city just be _nice_ to each other for a night? Just _one_ night? Or at least long enough for him to complete Act Two. It was already nine-thirty, and he had a paper to finish before even thinking about getting some sleep that night.

Standing at the base of the dome, he became aware that Wade was right behind him, less than a handspan away. He felt the far-too-familiar fingers settle on his waist and allowed himself to be rotated in the merc’s embrace.

It had been six weeks since he and Wade had become . . . whatever they were. He couldn’t even put a date on when they’d become more than just unlikely friends, it had just happened. He trusted Wade, wild and unpredictable as he was, and the older man had never asked to see more than the tip of his nose under his mask. He didn’t even know Peter’s name, though he’d been happy to reveal his.

“Honey, there are alpacas on Machu Picchu that know my name,” he’d said, tugging off his mask and treating Peter to a toothy grin.

The state of Wade’s skin wasn’t something Peter thought about so much anymore, though it had been something of a surprise to begin with. Obviously he’d known about it before – as Wade said, he was pretty infamous – but seeing it in person was a different experience. It wasn’t as bad as Wade had led him to believe; he’d almost been anticipating oozing sores and empty eye sockets, the way Wade had gone to such lengths to prepare him. Then Wade had started turning up when he was out on patrol, supposedly by coincidence, but that was harder to believe whenever he appeared with two portions of street food, one of which he knew to be Peter’s favourite.

They’d talked about pretty much everything, save for Peter’s personal details. Wade knew he was in his third year of college, studying biophysics, but he didn’t know where. As crazy as the merc was rumoured to be, he never tried to find out anymore details than Peter was willing to give. Like, he knew Peter had an aunt, but never asked her name or where she lived. Hell, he didn’t even ask where _Peter_ lived, despite pointing out his various safe-houses when they’d been running across city roofs together. Maybe he didn’t think Peter was capable of inflicting any real harm (probably true), or maybe he genuinely wanted someone to know him.

Peter thought back to their first kiss; the way Wade had nervously cupped his chin, probably expecting him to pull back at the touch. This tentativeness had been what encouraged Peter to move forward, standing on his toes to press inexperienced lips to Wade’s mouth. He tasted like the grape soda they’d been sharing.

And now, Wade wasn’t the only one who wanted to be known.

Before Wade could kiss him, there on the theatre roof, Peter said, “Wait.”

Wade paused, lips mere inches from Peter’s.

“What’s up?”

“Nothing. Just . . . it’s Peter. My name.”

Wade’s entire body seemed to freeze, like he’d been spontaneously encased in carbonite. The wide mouth exposed under his mask slowly stretched into a maniacal grin, before he pressed it against Peter’s waiting lips and whispered his name to the atoms between them.

“ _Peter_.”

A shiver ran down Peter’s spine at that voice saying his name, coating his inhibitions, dissolving any remaining misgivings he might have had.

Wade watched in silent astonishment as Peter pulled at the fabric of his mask, freeing his hair and giving it a quick ruffle to ease out any flattened bits. He wasn’t worried that Wade wouldn’t think he was cute (Wade had assured him many times that not even a cyclops eye could put him off), but was curious of Wade’s reaction, nonetheless.

Two sets of brown eyes stared at each other for a moment; Wade’s the bright, rich colour of mahogany, Peter’s so dark they were almost black.

Wade lifted his head and howled like a wolf to the night air. “WHOOOOOOO-HOOOOO! My Spidey’s a hot one!”

Peter couldn’t stop himself from laughing as Wade rained kisses on his face and neck, feebly protesting as his hands roamed the skin-tight suit.

“Hold on.” Wade grabbed Peter’s face with one hand and turned it from left to right, examining him like a scientist. “You _sure_ you’re 21, sweetie? ‘Cause this story ain’t rated ‘underage’.”

“Course I am,” Peter shook his head free. “You wanna see my licence?”

“Nah, I trust you.” Wade scooped Peter’s jaw with both hands and kissed him fervently, running his fingers through the thick mop of brown hair atop the boy’s head. “Damn, that feels good. Unfortunately, I can’t return the favour.”

Pulling back, Peter reached up and pulled at the tops of Wade’s ears, tilting his head forward and planting a caste kiss on the merc’s mottled head.

“Didn’t Snow White do this to Dopey?” Wade asked.

Peter blinked, amazed Wade had got the reference which gave him the idea in the first place. Wade tipped him a wink and reached round to massage his ass cheeks, making the boy squeal in surprise.

“Well, _my_ plan’s a little less family friendly.”

Peter’s stomach leapt. “Oh?”

Cupping one side of Peter’s face, Wade trailed soft kisses down the side of his neck to the neckline of his suit. Peter had to fight his whole body’s urge to tremble. Wade hadn’t been his first kiss, but he was _definitely_ his first . . . this. Not that he didn’t want it – fuck, he wanted it – but his knowledge surrounding this particular brand of intimacy was sorely lacking (aside from what he’d watched in porn). He just hoped Wade would take the lead and he could follow merrily along behind.

“How d’you get this damn thing off?” Wade growled, tugging at the suit. Peter quickly patted his hand to the spider logo on his chest, and the suit immediately sagged. “Ooh, nice,” Wade lowered the loose fabric from Peter’s shoulders, revealing his torso, stopping it just at his waist, for which Peter was grateful – one leap at a time.

“D’you have ever idea how many times I’ve imagined what you look like?” Wade asked, his leather-gloved hands roaming greedily over Peter’s chest and stomach. “I even drew pictures.”

“Really?”

“Got one here.”

Wade rummaged in one of the pouches of his utility belt, pulling out a small folded piece of paper. Peter took it and opened it up. It was a stick figure with tiny circles drawn either side of the lower half of its body.

“Are those . . .?”

“Your pecs.”

Peter leaned into Wade and pressed his forehead to his chest in an attempt to keep upright as the giggles overtook him. He barely noticed his suit dropping to his ankles as Wade enveloped him in his arms, the paper fluttering from his fingers and lost to the breeze. Wade’s large hands scooped him up under his ass cheeks, the suit slipping over his feet as he was lifted up against the hard, muscular body. He couldn’t tell if he was shaking from exhilaration, nerves or cold.

The growing hardness inside his boxers caught Wade’s attention, and he pulled back just enough to glance down between them. Peter blushed.

“Sorry.”

“ _Never_ apologise for having a boner, baby. Well, maybe if you’re at a Little Miss America pageant. But certainly not when it’s jabbing into _me_. Anyway,” he rubbed gently at the thin fabric concealing Peter’s excitement. “Want me to do something about it?”

Silently, Peter nodded.

There wasn’t much in the way of comfort on the roof, but Wade figured their best option would be the smooth planes of glass on the dome. On stage below, Hamilton and Jefferson were engaged in _Cabinet Battle #2_ , but Peter was barely listening.

The bite of cool air on his cock as Wade released it from his boxers made him hiss through his teeth, which turned into a gasp as Wade took the entire length inside his mouth. Peter had jerked off many ( _many_ ) times, but this was a whole new state of business. His knees shook with the intensity, the breath catching in his throat. His back arched against the glass, and Wade’s hand moved to support him, his fingertips brushing against the vertebrae of his spine. His touch felt like electricity.

Were he not waist-deep in Heaven, Peter could have laughed at the absurdity of the situation; the feared mercenary Deadpool giving Spider-Man a blow-job to the chirpy sounds of _Washington On Your Side_. Above them, a small patch of cloud had shifted, allowing a cluster of jewel-bright stars to wink down at the city. Peter rested his hand on Wade’s head and stroked the rough skin.

“Wade . . .”

The merc gave his cock one last long lick before pulling away and lifting Peter to his feet. Leaning in, he drew in close to Peter ear and whispered: “I want you, baby.”

Peter couldn’t tell if he wanted to scream, laugh or simply gibber uncontrollably. He couldn’t believe this was happening – he’d fantasised about it for so long, and now here Wade was offering him the chance on a silver platter.

“I . . . I want you, too,” he mumbled, embarrassed to say the words aloud.

“Yeah?” Wade sounded equal parts gleeful and surprised.

Peter cupped the back of Wade’s head and brought him down for a kiss, trying to relay just how much he wanted him with the touch of his tongue. He watched as Wade scrambled out of his suit, kicking it to one side and standing naked before him. While his entire body was as mottled and distorted as the skin on his head, the impressive muscles bulging beneath more than made up for it. Peter gave an audible gulp at the sight of Wade’s cock – long and thick, the swollen head already oozing onto the ground. Not knowing the best position, he improvised and lowered himself onto all fours, glancing over his shoulder at Wade to seek his approval. Wade looked as though his birthday, Christmas and Taco Tuesday had all come at once.

Peter breathed a small sigh of relief when Wade pulled a condom from one of the pockets of his discarded suit. As much as he wanted the merc to fuck him, he didn’t think he was ready for an ass full of cum. Wade rolled the rubber onto his cock and paused to apply a handful of clear goo from a small tube. As he positioned himself at Peter’s asshole, the young hero tried to keep his body and mind calm and loose. He knew it was going to hurt, but he trusted it would be worth it. He really, _really_ hoped it would be worth it.

Wade went mercifully slow, easing the head into Peter’s hole centimetre by centimetre, but the pain was still more than Peter had anticipated. Unable to hold back a teeth-gritted whimper, he screwed his eyes tightly shut, biting the skin of his arm. Wade hushed and soothed him, his fingers finding Peter’s own cock and massaging it, allowing a small spark of pleasure to break through the burn. He could feel Wade’s body trembling, his breath a little ragged. It seemed to take a thousand years before he felt something solid meet his ass, Wade’s hips resting there for a moment.

“You okay?” the merc asked, breath hot on the back of Peter’s neck.

Peter wanted to say yes, wanted to moan like the twinks he’d seen online, but the truth was a little less romantic. He didn’t want to stop, didn’t want to disappoint Wade, not when it was finally happening – the longed-for moment. He should have known it wouldn’t be fireworks and unbridled bliss the first time. He’d just hoped it would be better than . . . well, _this_. He’d just have to grit his teeth and hold his tongue until Wade was done.

“Babe?” Wade pulled out the smallest fraction and Peter’s eyes streamed.

“M’fine,” he mumbled. “Keep . . . keep going.”

Breathing like he was in labour, he tensed his muscles and waited, but the moment Wade began pushing back in, a giant red light appeared behind his eyelids.

“Stop! Stop!” he gasped, and Wade pulled out immediately. His ass stung and, from the look of the condom on Wade’s waning erection, was bleeding. Feeling like a total fucking idiot, he wiped his eyes and stared at the ground. “I’m sorry,” he sniffed.

“Baby, it’s okay,” Wade removed the condom, tossing it aside into the darkness, and cupped Peter’s chin with one hand. “I’m sorry, wasn’t there enough lube?”

“I dunno,” Peter shrugged. “I guess . . . well, I suppose since it’s my first time it—”

He was struck dumb by the sudden look of horror on Wade’s scarred features.

“That – _that_ – was your first time?” he rasped.

Peter nodded and Wade leapt to his feet as though the ground was suddenly covered in venomous spiders (as opposed to just one rather sad and confused one). He began dressing with furious speed, his face a mask of disgust, and Peter’s body felt alternative ice-cold and burning hot. Why was Wade mad at him? Because he’d been a virgin? He didn’t understand – he thought Wade would _relish_ being his First.

“Wade . . .?”

Suit on, mask in hand, Wade glared down at him. “I took your virginity – _Spider-Man’s_ virginity – on a fucking rooftop.”

“Um . . . yeah?”

“Damn it, kid!” Wade pulled one of the guns from his holster belt and for an insane moment Peter genuinely thought the merc was going to shoot him were he sat, naked and bleeding from the ass. What a way to go.

Instead, Wade pressed the muzzle of the Desert Eagle against the side of his _own_ head, cocking the hammer and wrapping his finger round the trigger.

“WAIT!” Peter jumped to his feet – somewhat painfully, though he could feel his healing factor taking effect already – and grabbed Wade’s arm. “What’re you doing?!”

Wade looked down at him, still poised to shoot. “A fucking _rooftop_ ,” he said, with a tone as though he had single-handedly killed every puppy on Earth, and each one belonged to John Wick.

“Wade, it’s okay, I don’t mind!”

He wasn’t sure how true this was, but he’d have said anything to get the stupid gun away from Wade’s skull. He knew the guy was basically immortal, but didn’t think his nightmares would spare him repeats of watching his brains scatter across the roof. Seeing the fear in his eyes, Wade seemed to realise this, and gradually lowered the gun to his side. Peter gave a premature sigh of relief about three seconds before Wade shot himself in the balls.

As the blood splattered across the concrete floor, Peter wondered for a moment if he was going to throw up. He didn’t look to see if he could identify Wade’s junk in the gore. Wade seemed to be taking the whole situation inhumanly well, glowering down at his disembodied penis with anger and disgust. Peter, remembering he was still naked, pulled his suit back on and stood wringing his mask. Wade’s non-armed hand was hanging limp by his side. Cautiously, Peter reached out and took it, feeling Wade start at the contact. For a moment, they stared at each other, neither sure who should speak first.

“I’M SO SORRY,” Wade suddenly wailed, dropping to his knees amongst the carnage of his crotch and covering his eyes with his hand (the other still holding Peter’s). Peter could have laughed at the situation were he not still feeling queasy.

“Wade,” he said calmly. “It’s alright.”

Pivoting towards Peter on his knees, Wade grabbed the hero’s hips, gun clattering to the floor, his bright eyes gazing imploringly into Peter’s.

“Kid,” he started, then shook his head. “ _Peter_. You are _the_ most exquisite thing in this universe and many others, and I _defiled_ you.”

Peter couldn’t help it – he started laughing. The sincerity with which Wade was speaking, the sorrow shining in his eyes; it all struck Peter as entirely ridiculous.

“Wade, I’m not the Holy Virgin.”

“No, but you’re pure and good and wholesome.”

“Then why’d you have sex with me in the first place?”

“Because you’re _crazy_ stupid fine, damn it!”

Peter rolled his eyes, though flattered by the pretty words, and sighed. “Well, it’s done now. Sorta. Sorry I chickened out.”

Wade’s hands moved upwards, pinning Peter’s arms to his side. “ _Never_ apologise for changing your mind. That goes for _you_ lot too,” he added, staring into the middle-distance.

Peter shook his head, confused (Wade was more than a little strange), and pulled the kneeling man to his feet. He stood a good six inches taller, meaning, at this distance, Peter had to crane his neck to look into his eyes. He could floor Wade in a second with his super strength, but somehow still felt small and protected beside him.

“If I had to have my first time with anyone,” he said softly, touching the backs of his fingers to Wade’s cheek, “I’m glad it was you.”

“Oh, but it was craaaaaap!” Wade whined, bouncing on his toes like a toddler. “Your first time should be roses and candles and champagne. Well, hardly anyone’s is but _yours_ should have been!”

“You know, you make me feel like a Disney princess sometimes.”

“Yeah well, you’re a sparkly dress and animal sidekick away from _being_ one, baby boy,” Wade said, a hint of his usual smirk returning to his lips.

“What was _your_ first time like?”

“Ever read a Stephen King novel?” Wade shuddered. “So . . . you don’t hate me?”

“No!” Peter chuckled exasperatedly. “And next time will be better, right?”

Wade couldn’t have looked more surprised if Peter had expressed a desire to become an ostrich.

“Next time?”

“Well, yeah . . .” Peter rubbed the back of his neck and looked so cute Wade could barely resist jumping him again there and then. “I mean . . . that’s if _you_ want to . . .”

“The Four Seasons,” Wade said. “57th Street.”

Peter blinked. “Um, okay?”

“Tomorrow night, six o’clock. Ask for Mr. Pool.”

Peter raised an eyebrow. “. . . Pool.”

“Yes, it’s brilliant. Just be there, okay? As yourself.”

“Sure, fine.”

“Now come here.”

Peter allowed himself to be swept into Wade’s muscular embrace and closed his eyes as he kissed him. Standing on tiptoe, he wrapped his arms around the merc’s neck and poured his heart into the kiss, revelling in the way Wade’s hands couldn’t seem to get enough of his body – his back, his waist, his ass, before settling on cupping the back of his head.

“Don’t be late,” Wade murmured against his lips, before donning his mask and disappearing into the night.

Peter had swung the streets near the Four Seasons many times in mask, but never as his true self. He’d not been sure what to wear, since nothing he owned could be considered smart or expensive enough to match the grandeur of the buildings around him. Eventually, he’d settled on his cleanest white shirt and the black suit he’d worn at Empire State University’s last spring dance. Suspecting – or at least _hoping_ – his visit to the hotel would include an overnight stay, he’d packed a few toiletries and a change of underwear into a messenger bag slung over his shoulder.

Pausing before the grand front doors, Peter gathered himself and tried to settle the writing knot of nerves in his stomach. It was strange – even though he and Wade had already been intimate (albeit briefly), he felt more anxious now than he had then. He guessed because tonight felt weighted, bubbling with expectation. Exhaling sharply, he walked through the doors and approached the reception desk with trepidation. The lobby was calm and tranquil, the muted colours all sandy shades of gold, tan and burgundy. What if they took one look at his attire and deemed him too scruffy to possibly be welcome there?

A bespectacled girl with cropped white-blonde hair looked up at him as he neared the counter, her sharp gaze accessing him. She was clearly analysing his appearance, but to Peter’s surprise and relief, she seemed to like very much what she was seeing. Leaning forward with a welcome smile, she spoke in a European accent: “Good evening, sir. How can I help you?”

“Hi,” Peter’s voice hitched a little and he cleared his throat. “I’m meeting someone. I think he’s already here.”

“Name, please.”

“Um, Mr. Pool?”

A quick glance at her computer screen and the girl nodded. “Ah yes, he said he was expecting a guest.” Picking up the desk phone, she quickly dialled a number and Peter felt a little more relaxed; at least he was over the first hurdle.

“Hello, Mr. Pool? Sorry to disturb you, there’s a young man here to see you. Umm . . . brown hair, attractive?”

She grinned at Peter, who felt his face flush.

“I’m sorry?” she frowned a little. “Um, excuse me a moment.” Holding the phone away from her ear, she looked back at Peter. “Would you turn around please, sir?”

Perplexed, Peter turned on the spot, performing a slow one-eighty and turning back to face her. She nodded and spoke into the receiver. “Yeah, pretty sure you could bounce a quarter off it.” She smirked, concealing a laugh. “I’ll send him up.” Replacing the phone, she said, “Floor fifty-seven, the Ty Warner penthouse suite. Would you like me to show you the way?”

“Oh, no thank you, I can manage,” Peter smiled and, looking slightly disappointed, she pointed him in the direction of the elevator.

The glass windows of the elevator made Peter feel like Captain Marvel, soaring upwards through the sky to destinations unknown. He could see the vast gap in city lights of Central Park, a portion of the trees illuminated by festival lanterns. He had a mental image of walking hand-in-hand with Wade through the park as civilians, enjoying the sunlight and food carts as a normal couple. Could he hope for that, now Wade knew his face? Now he knew his name?

He was somehow both amazed and totally unsurprised that Wade had gone to such lengths as to rent the entire penthouse suite. Since when did the guy ever do anything by halves, but he was still struggling to believe that he was worth all the fuss. Still, he thought as the elevator slowed and the doors opened onto the penthouse, if _this_ was how Wade expressed his feelings towards him, _he_ certainly wasn’t complaining.

The room was bigger than Peter’s entire student apartment. Hell, bigger than _Aunt May’s_ apartment. The floor and wall panels were varying shades of soft brown, with sections of the walls decorated by silver vines, and the furniture was a collection of beige fabric and black leather. Two corners of the living space were taken up by floor-to-ceiling window balconies, allowing gorgeous panoramic views of the city. One balcony boasted a glass-top table supported by elaborate gold legs, shaped to look like antelope skulls with elongated curling antlers; the other a black piano, the view stretching as far as the Empire State Building.

Places had been set at the table for two – with a bottle of champagne cooling in an ice-bucket by the window. The lights were dimmed, with candles illuminating the room with soft light, reflecting in the shiny surfaces. A large bouquet of red roses sat proudly on the designer coffee table. Champagne, candles and roses – exactly as Wade had promised.

As is summoned by Peter’s thoughts, the merc himself appeared from what Peter assumed was the bedroom. He was looking smarter than Peter had ever seen him, in a crisp white shirt and grey suit pants. It made the abnormality of his scars stand out more in comparison, but Peter barely noticed. Wade held out his arms and looked around the room, as through he’d built the penthouse from scratch that day just to please Peter.

“Sooooo?” he grinned. “Did Daddy do good or what?”

Peter grimaced. “ _Please_ don’t call yourself ‘Daddy’?”

“Sorry, would you prefer ‘Mommy’?”

Peter shook his head, smiling. “Shut up.” Dropping his bag at his feet, he skipped over the slippery floor to Wade and threw himself into his arms. Catching him deftly, Wade kissed him deeply, carrying him like a new bride into the bedroom. One side of the room was almost entirely windows, the other dominated by an enormous bed surrounded by curtains. An assortment of different-coloured rose petals had been scattered artistically across the duvet.

Peter glanced at Wade. “No cock-and-balls?”

“I thought about it,” he mumbled guiltily. He set Peter down on the plush carpet.

A small dish of strawberries sat on a table beside the window next to a fondue pot kept warm over a hot tile. Unable to resist, Peter dipped his whole finger in the pot and sucked off the melted chocolate. Before he could take a second lick, Wade took hold of his hand and ran his tongue along the sticky skin, their eyes locked as he took Peter’s whole finger in his mouth.

“Gross,” Peter said, but his heart was thumping.

Wade lightly kissed the tip of his finger and moved closer, winding his arm around the hero’s slim waist.

“You look amazing,” he whispered, his deep voice sending a shiver down Peter’s spine. “You’ve no idea how long I’ve wanted to see your face.”

“How long?” Peter teased, linking their fingers together and pressing his lips to the bumpy skin of Wade’s thumb.

“Pretty much since I first saw you on the news,” Wade admitted. “Your ass was front-page material all by itself, even in those dorky sweatpants you used to wear.”

“You know, I was fifteen when I became Spider-Man,” Peter slowly began undoing Wade’s shirt buttons.

“So? If I couldn’t fuck you, I could at least drool over you. Fuck, I bet you were cute back then.”

“Honestly, I haven’t changed much,” Peter said, running his fingertips over the sculpted abs. “Reckon I’m doomed to look like a twelve-year-old forever.”

“Just as well I’m a shameless perv then, isn’t it?” Bending down a little, Wade scooped Peter up under his thighs and wrapped them around his waist, his large hands perfectly supporting his ass cheeks. Peter cupped his face with both hands and kissed him, lapping at Wade’s tongue with his, relishing the taste of him, how warm the inside of his mouth was. He remembered how incredible it had felt around his cock. He wondered if he could make Wade feel that good.

“Hey, let me down,” he said, tapping Wade’s shoulder and unhooking his legs from around him. Disappointed but obedient, Wade set him down on the floor, his expression going from confused to surprised to ecstatic as he watched Peter drop to his knees and begin unzipping his pants. He was already rock-hard and sprang out of his underwear at the lightest touch from Peter’s inexperienced fingers.

“Don’t try to take too much at once,” he said, his desire to grab Peter’s head and skull-fuck him battling with his genuine tender affection for the young hero.

Peter wrapped his fingers around the base of Wade’s cock and rubbed gently, mimicking the action he’d used on himself and seen in porn countless times. His fingers and thumb barely touched around the girth of his cock, and it struck him as no wonder that it had hurt so much that first time. He took the head into his mouth, surprised by the clean, pure taste of flesh. He’d expected it to taste . . . salty, almost. Dirty, even. Not because it was Wade, but because it was . . . well, a dick. Settling himself more comfortably on the carpet, he rested his unoccupied hand on Wade’s hip to steady himself, and took him further back along his tongue.

Wade was about ready to cum just from the view he was enjoying – Peter’s innocent face at his cock, his sweet pink lips stretched wide around him.

“Look at me,” he grunted, sighing raggedly as Peter’s dark eyes, bright with the straight of taking him, gazing adoringly up through his thick eyelashes. If this was a dream, Wade hoped he was in a thousand-year coma.

He threaded his fingers through Peter’s thick hair, gripping lightly and guiding his movements, slow and steady so as not to choke him (he wasn’t ready for that _just_ yet). Peter let himself be led, the head of Wade’s cock bouncing gently against the back of his throat, not quite hard enough to make him gag.

“More,” he whispered, pulling back and wiping a gleam of spit from his chin. “I can take more.”

He saw a physical tremor shudder through Wade’s body, and found himself hoisted upwards from the floor and onto the bed.

“Turn around,” Wade muttered, voice hoard with impatient lust. “So your head’s hanging off.”

Peter did as he was told, opening his mouth wide in anticipation for Wade’s cock to slip inside. From this angle, the upward curve of his cock pushed easily past the back of his mouth and down his throat. Peter pressed his fingers to his neck, feeling the lump rise and fall beneath the skin as Wade thrust gently into him.

“Jesus, baby,” Wade gasped. “Did that spider give you a fucking super _gag_ -reflex too?”

Peter had no idea, but the fact that he wasn’t choking and spluttering on his first blow-job wasn’t something he was going to question or refuse.

Wade was certain if they kept up this way he was going to cum faster than an incel in their momma’s panties, so he pulled out and allowed Peter to regain his breath. He rolled over onto his front and rose to his hands and knees. His lips were rosy and wet, his cheeks flushed.

“Wade,” he panted, gazing up at him. “Please. I’m ready. I want to . . .”

“Whoa, sweetie,” Wade said. “No mistakes this time, yeah? On your back.”

Peter returned to his horizontal position, and Wade slid a small throw-pillow from a nearby armchair under his head for support. They were both almost fully clothed, so he quickly discarded his shirt, pants and boxers before crawling onto the bed between Peter’s long, willowy legs. With a little wriggling, they removed Peter’s own clothes, until both supers were naked beside each other. Wade hoisted Peter’s thighs up on his shoulders and bracketed his hips with his scarred hands. Easing the boy’s delectable ass cheeks apart with his thumbs, he began to lick his asshole. Peter squirmed a little at the strange sensation, foreign to him even after having Wade’s dick in his butt, but slowly grew used to it. Combined with Wade’s hand rolling up and down the length of his cock, he felt his muscles begin to loosen. Rising up on his knees, Wade pulled a tube of KY jelly out of absolutely nowhere, and squirted a considerable amount over his fore, middle and ring fingers.

“Proper prep this time, baby,” he said, voice heavy with an apologetic tone.

The shock of the cold gel was more of a surprise than the first finger in his butt. With Wade’s oral attentions and the lube, the finger slid in easily. Still, Wade took his time before inserting the second, allowing Peter ample chance to adjust. Even with two fingers, Peter couldn’t say it hurt; it just felt a little strange. When Wade took his cock in his mouth, the rush of pleasure was so intense he only just registered the addition of a third finger, the tips clustered together to form a point inside him. Wade began shallowly thrusting his fingers in time to the bobbing of his head on Peter’s cock. The sheer contrast in sensations was insane – the stinging burn of his body protesting the intrusion compared to the heavenly warmth pooling in his lower abdomen.

After a few minutes of this, Wade pulled away and produced a condom (again, seemingly out of a convenient pocket in the universe). He paused, staring at Peter with the obvious question hanging in the air between them, and Peter nodded. The amount of lube Wade smothered the condom in would have slicked a cactus, but Peter wasn’t complaining. He _really_ wanted this to feel good; Wade had gone to such an effort to make it special for him, and he didn’t want to fake any of it.

He was amazed by how different it felt when Wade began to push inside him. It still hurt, there was no denying that, but he could bear it happily. He kept his eyes focused on the kaleidoscope of expressions on Wade’s face above him, a visual symphony of pleasure, concern and adoration. Once he was all the way inside, he leaned down to kiss his beautiful boy.

“Good?” he asked, voice strained.

Peter nodded, clutching onto Wade’s broad shoulders, his hands looking so small next to the bulging muscles. “Come on,” he whispered.

The friction as Wade pulled out was different too – before, it had been like scraping sand against sunburn, but now it was like clawing at a mosquito bite; painful, but strangely satisfying. It was like scratching an itch he didn’t know he had until he touched it. And this time, when Wade pushed back in, he felt a faint glow of pleasure begin to hum around the pain like a velvet glove. Fumbling between their bodies, he took hold of his own cock and began stroking it, the familiar gentle warmth of arousal dulling the strangeness of what was happening to him, and as Wade’s speed increased, that bizarre thrum of bliss at the base of his spine reverberated louder.

“Oh!” he gasped, his free hand digging into Wade’s arm. “Wade . . .”

Wade grinned, adding a sharp jab to his thrusts and appreciating the way Peter’s eyes flew open.

“Do that again.”

He thrust harder, again and again, until the boy was almost writhing beneath him. His skin was pink, shining with a thin layer of sweat, strands of his brown hair stuck to his forehead. The room was filled with their gasps of pleasure and the slapping of their bodies against each other. The rhythm of Peter’s hand on his cock was becoming short, intense, and Wade could tell he was close. He wanted Peter to cum before he did – there would be no point to this if Peter didn’t cum.

“That’s it, baby,” he murmured in a deep, sultry tone that he knew had driven former lovers to the edge. “That’s my boy. Come on, Peter. Cum for me. Show me what a good boy you are.”

“Y-yes!” Peter whimpered. “Wade. I want to . . . please . . .”

“Who do you belong to?” Wade growled, tightening his thrusts, feeling a telling tightness in his own balls.

“You!” Peter threw back his head, hand jerking. “I’m yours, Wade!”

“That’s it. You’re mine. You belong to me. No-one else is gonna make you cum like this.”

“No . . . no-one . . . oh God, Wade . . . yes . . . oh god, oh god, I’m gonna . . . I’m gonna cum—!”

“Cum for me, baby,” Wade’s head was starting to spin, white heat rising inside him.

“Cum in me, Wade,” Peter’s sweet voice surprised him, begging. “Please, cum in me!”

Peter came before Wade, the fluttering pulsations of his ass sending him over the edge soon after. They lay there in a damp heap, in post-coital ecstasy, both kissing any part of their lover’s skin they could reach. It was beyond anything Peter could have ever imagined – beyond anything he had ever dreamed about.

He was already looking forward to the next time.

Night had fallen by the time the two of them sank into the steaming bath. It was deep and long enough to happily seat the pair of them toe-to-toe, but they still huddled close together at one end, Peter resting on Wade’s lap. His hair was wet from the bubble-bath crown Wade had insisted he wear, and his lips were sticky with chocolate from the fondue and strawberries they’d brought into the bathroom with them. Two flutes of sparkling champagne sat on the shelf surrounding the bath, a strawberry floating in each glass (Wade said it made the champagne taste better, but Peter reckoned he just wanted the photo for his Instagram).

Half an hour later, sitting in front of the 72” TV in the living room in fluffy white bathrobes, Wade suddenly sprang up.

“Holy shit, I almost forgot!” he said, while Peter tried to calm his racing heartbeat. Retrieving a brown envelope from the glass table, he leapt back onto the couch and sat cross-legged, excited as a kid at Christmas. “Open it!” he demanded.

“Really? I’d never have known,” Peter smirked, tearing the flap of the envelope and pulling out two tickets. “Wait,” his eyes widened round as saucers. “Oh my God.”

“Yep!” Wade said triumphantly. “ _Hamilton_. In proper seats this time.”

“Front row,” Peter said reverently.

“What can I say?” Wade shrugged. “ _Love doesn’t discriminate between the sinners and the saints_.”

Peter set the tickets down and pulled Wade in for a kiss. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, baby boy.”

For a second first time, Peter had to admit, it was pretty fucking great. 

**Author's Note:**

> Please please PLEASE leave a comment if you liked this! It would mean the world to me. <3


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